Pandora's Box

by Miller, Gracen

  Sweet justice. She smiled.

  Staked to the floor, in the middle of a Demon Lock, Phoenix Birmingham cursed worse than a sailor. A man after her own heart.

  Wait! A Demon Lock. What the fuck?

  How’d a demon get in the middle to stake him down? A demon couldn’t just waltz out afterward. Maybe they’d staked him before painting the design around him. A realization struck her. The device wouldn’t bother a King. It’d take an Angel Lock to capture one of them.

  Shit! She’d fucked herself, following Amos’s commands.

  She swallowed, tamping down her fear.

  Petra scanned the room. The abrasive rope strapped Gage securely to one of the alley-side tables where bowlers could eat and drink while conversing and waiting their turn. She sensed no one else and every available sense she possessed hit high alert radar. So, any creature other than her father should be visible to her.

  She knelt beside Gage. He flinched when she leaned close to his ear. “I mean you no harm, Gage.”

  He frowned. “You know my name?”

  Obviously, Einstein.

  She ignored his question and sliced through his constraints with the blade as easy as pie. Clutching his hand in hers, she pressed a knife into his palm. “You’ll have to release Phoenix. I cannot enter the Demon Lock.”

  “You’re a demon?” He scowled, worry tugging at the corners of his eyes.

  Yes and no. Her lineage was more complicated, half-demon and half-angel. Instead of giving a direct answer, she said, “Can’t you see my eyes?”

  “Yes.” Gage scooted a foot away from her and held the knife out.

  “Do you seriously think I’d give you a weapon you could use on me?” Petra snorted at his idiocy. “I’ll get the lights.” Almost as quickly as she uttered the sentence, her telepathy overpowered the baseborn demon mojo. Light flooded the bowling alley.

  Gage squinted at the sudden burst of luminosity, and Phoenix groaned. “You get Phoenix,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll handle the demons.”

  The two demons she’d flattened against the wall were easily sent packing back to Hell, with a curse to keep them bound there for a millennium. It would also seal her own doom because she knew the demons would squeal her out. But when they hunted her, the baseborn demons would be wise to bring some heavy artillery because it’d take more than them to bring her down.

  “I want the Birminghams,” Father had said, and she’d promised to deliver.

  What a death wish she owned!

  Phoenix rubbed his wrists as she moved toward the other two inferior creatures. She could feel the cousins watching her when she used her power to command the demons back to Hell.

  “Kahokl hi taqq, jmufl iw Qoyewak. E up Petralegija, xuovthak iw Relvj, ulx E yokja htaa hi kapuel htaka u peqqalleom zawika cio puc keja uvuel.” Return to Hell, spawn of Lucifer. I am Petralegija, daughter of Kings, and I curse thee to remain there a millennium before you may rise again.

  Demons rarely went out easily, and these two weren’t any different. Screeching in a long-winded bellow of pain, they torched into fireworks—reminding her of Roman candles—before combusting.

  “I’ve heard your language before, “ Phoenix said. She was sure he had. Madison lapsed into it often, at odd and inappropriate moments. Once, when they ordered dinner in a restaurant, Madison switched to the demon dialect and gave the waitress her order in Xapil. Another time, she waltzed into the DMV to speak with a worker they believed a dark witch. In the middle of the conversation, Madison switched into Xapil. She’d tried to pass it off as a deliberate ruse to trick the witch into showing her true colors. Petra knew better. Witches weren’t familiar with the language. At home, Madison’s sentences altered between tongues. Each and every time it happened, she became flustered. Petra found the behavior bizarre. She also knew it indicated Madison balanced between two worlds. At some point, she would have to embrace her succubus side. It couldn’t be denied much longer.

  “What’d you say?” Gage asked.

  “What was that hocus-pocus bullshit?” Phoenix demanded, before Gage got the last syllable out.

  “My blade.” She held her hand out to Gage and peered at Phoenix. “Do you really wish to talk right now? Dally long enough to give Micah time to arrive, so he can use you against Madison and damn all my help? Or do you want to get the hell out of here?”

  Her attention hit Gage, and she scowled when he refused to return her blade. His lips cocked at an odd angle, maybe contemplating if he should return her weapon. “We need to get beyond our trust issues. Go ahead and stab me with it.”

  “It’ll kill the body you’re wearing.”

  “I’m not wearing a body, sunshine.” Quickly, she reached out, grabbed his hand, and stepped into the serrated blade. Gage’s eyes went round. The expression on Phoenix’s face was just as dumbfounded. They’d probably never met a demon willing to mutilate herself before. “Feel safer?”

  “No,” Phoenix said, his voice as mulish as his expression.

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She wrenched the hilt from Gage’s hand, snatched the dagger from her gut, turned on her heel, and walked to the door. “I just sent four goddamn demons back to Hell to save your sorry asses. You could show some appreciation.”

  Not that she really gave a shit if they appreciated her sacrifice. Amos’s opinion was all she cared about.

  Neither Sherlock followed her. She prayed they’d bust their asses to follow her soon. The door swooshed shut behind her. Outside thick, heavy silence pitched like a scream. No rustling of rodents or crickets chirping. Not even the whir of passing cars penetrated the stillness. Even the air lay motionless, grew oppressive like the consistency of syrup. Not good. The air density indicated a high-level demon approached.

  “Shit,” she breathed, just above a whisper, as the cousins burst out of the bowling alley. Phoenix stopped beside her. Yanking the keys out of her pocket, she hit the unlock button and commanded, “Get in the fucking car!” Phoenix gave her a startled glance, and by the expression on his face, would have argued if she hadn’t yelled, “Have it your way, Sherlock. If you value your ass, get in the car.”

  The Sherlocks glanced at one another, probably deciding in some silent way whether to trust her. In the end, they both scrambled to follow her.

  “Drive.” She tossed Phoenix the keys. “Fast!”

  “Backseat, sunshine.” She pulled the passenger door open and motioned to the backseat.

  “I can’t fit in the backseat,” Gage argued.

  Yeah, the Sherlock stood at least six-foot five. Not her problem or a valid argument at the moment. “Would you rather die? ‘Cause I’m not a backseat kinda gal, well, I am, but I need motivation and—”

  “You’re not a gal,” he shot back, jutting his chin out. “And TMI.”

  “Touché.” She rolled her eyes. “I got work to do, and there’s not enough room in the backseat.”

  “Gage, get in, goddamnit!” Phoenix bellowed, cranking the vehicle. She stared at Gage’s ass—great ass, Zoe was a lucky gal—as he bellyached about being forced into the too tiny backseat. Flicking a glance at Phoenix, she was surprised to see him fondling the car’s dash and salivating at the fine lines of the vehicle.

  Petra shivered at the thought, as if his hands caressed her instead. She turned back to Gage, who squeezed between the headrests and into the backseat in a disorderly fashion, all legs and arms. His ass became wedged between the two seats. Any other time, she’d have laughed hysterically. Right now…she put a hand on his butt and shoved, jumping into the front passenger seat as he tumbled into the rear.

  “Buckle up.” Phoenix flashed a cocky grin and jerked the car into reverse. Petra’s head smacked the headrest as he punched it into drive and squealed out of the parking lot.

  Yeah, like buckling up was top priority right now.

  Street lights and cars zipped past them, a blur, as Phoenix accelerated to almost eighty miles an hour, pretty fast for city streets. “Nic
e car.”

  “I’m sure the owner thanks you.”

  “Where’d you get it?” He fondled the steering wheel as he sped through two red lights without slowing down.

  “Hijacked it.”

  “A Maserati?” He quirked an eyebrow at her as he shifted lanes quickly, and swerved back into the original roadway. “What, too many Hondas to pick from?”

  “The Hondas didn’t fit my mood.” Petra pulled her shirt over her head and chucked it onto the floorboard. “Wrong color.” She sent him a snarky grin.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” Gage demanded from behind them, and Phoenix shot her an uncertain gander as well.

  “Protecting your ass.”

  “By removing your clothing?” Gage sounded more than a little prudish.

  “Yeah, stripping and fucking you will protect your ass…not.”

  “Sarcasm is not—what the hell are you doing now?” Gage again.

  She wished he’d shut up. She needed to concentrate. Ignoring him, she carved elaborate symbols on her left arm with the blade.

  “What the fu—” Phoenix veered into oncoming traffic. To a bevy of bleating horns, he wrenched the vehicle back into his lane, slamming her against the door hard enough to jar her teeth.

  Blood dripped on her jeans and the car seat. The owners weren’t going to be too happy when they located the vehicle. “Drive faster! I’ve been compromised.”

  Phoenix punched it, hitting one hundred. “Compromised? What exactly does that mean?”

  “And how does that cutting shit protect our asses?” Gage’s prudish voice grated on her nerves.

  Petra sighed, and went to work engraving the designs on her other arm.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Turn here,” the blonde mutilating herself in the passenger seat instructed, without glancing at the road. Nix wasn’t sure why they trusted her. Saving them from Micah. He gave a mental snort. All of this could be part of some elaborate trap.

  Nix wrenched the steering wheel to the right, and the car fishtailed as he punched it down the side street.

  “Next time, a little more warning,” he snapped.

  She ignored him and focused on painting her blood on the dash. She smeared it on the passenger window and leaned a breath away from his face when she smudged a symbol on the driver’s side window. A flirty twinkle spelled mischief in her eyes when she replied to his comment. “Next time, I will try.”

  She dropped back into her seat, crying out as she clasped her forehead with her left hand. Stomping her foot on the floorboard, she panted, “Here,” and shoved the glowing blade, handle first, toward him. “Take it.”

  Nix refused the weapon and continued speeding down the street.

  Her eyes swirled an eerie color of violet and blue. “He’s talking to me,” she gasped, as if in severe pain. “Take the fucking blade!”

  “Why?” Gage leaned forward, between the seats, as Nix took the knife reluctantly from her bloody, shaking fingers. “It won’t harm you.”

  She started speaking in demon, with pauses, as if she were listening to someone. Nix glanced at Gage in the review mirror. His cousin shrugged.

  Abruptly she turned to face Gage. “The knife will harm you, dumbass.” Twisting to her knees, she grabbed his head with her bloody hands and smeared a mark on his forehead. Before Phoenix could protest, she did the same thing to him. “Repeat the design on me,” she instructed. “Now! Unless you want to be compromised along with me.”

  Gage needed no further incentive. Being compromised by a demon didn’t tally on the winning side of this war. Gage swiped his fingers in the blood on her arm and drew the symbol on her forehead. Sighing with obvious relief, she slumped into her seat. “Better. Thanks.”

  “What’d that do?” Phoenix asked, shooting her a quick glance. The Maserati’s tires should be smoking from his speed, as he ran red lights and stop signs alike.

  “It disconnected our long-distance, mental call. He attempted to tap into your heads, too.”

  “Who is he exactly?” He made a face. Should he really believe she actually helped them? Demons never helped Sherlocks.

  “Micah. You remember him, right? Madison’s husband and Amos’s daddy? Turn left two streets down.” She sent him a saucy grin. “Was that enough time for ya, honey?”

  “Yeah,” he said, sending her a hard glare. “What does Micah want with us?”

  “He wants Madison and Amos. They’re in hiding, and he can’t break the spell.” She shrugged. “He decided to use you as bait.”

  Nix felt sick to his stomach at the idea of being bait for Mads.

  Two streets down, he made a left, and she directed him to a ritzy hotel. “I’m in the penthouse. We’ll be safe there.”

  “We’re not going into your hotel room with you,” Nix argued hotly, sure as hell she planned something nefarious. She probably led them straight to Micah.

  “We won’t get past the front desk, with all this blood,” Gage said reasonably.

  Not to mention she wore only a red bra and leather pants.

  She turned toward them, but before she could speak, Nix demanded, “Are you going to put your shirt back on?”

  “Inside, you’ll be protected from Micah and any other demons he’s sent after you.” She rubbed her temples. Her gaze clashed with his, and she said, sweet as rain, “No, the shirt stays off. The magic won’t work if the symbols are covered. You got a problem with red? ‘Cause I can remove the bra, if red’s an issue.”

  “No!” Nix couldn’t get the word out fast enough. He hoped the horror of her exposing her breasts didn’t show on his face because he got the idea if she knew, she’d remove the garment to spite him.

  “I have enough strength to throw up a spell to make us invisible to anyone we might encounter. It won’t last long.” She circled her temples with her fingertips again. “We gotta be quick, though. Micah is going to bust through my sorcery soon, if I don’t get inside the hotel room.”

  Nix parked the vehicle down the side street she indicated.

  “You should dump the car,” she told Gage.

  “What about his safety?” Nix glared at her, wondering if he should just butcher her and leave her bleeding out on the street.

  “Once I’m locked inside the hotel room, he’ll be protected, too. Just don’t remove the symbol, sunshine. We can’t risk the car being found anywhere near us. He will sniff us out if he can’t find us through telepathy. You gotta park the car far, far away.” She turned to Gage. “Got it, sunshine? Far away.”

  Nix and Gage glanced at one another. By expressions alone, each could generally tell what the other thought. Nix wanted to play this out, see what she was up to. Maybe he could find something useful against the supernatural species in her hotel. Gage would prefer to hightail it to safety, which was the smarter choice. He prayed his cousin would be the first to concede and follow Nix’s preference.

  “Go with her,” Gage said. “Let’s ride this out. I’ll dump the car, backtrack to our vehicle, and call you when I’m finished.”

  With a nod, Nix agreed.

  They made it past the front desk without incident. The elevator took them to the penthouse floor. Leave it to a demon to want the best, to have the money for the best.

  Petra stumbled from the elevator and into the penthouse, bleeding like she’d been run over by a Mac truck, leaving a puddle of blood in the elevator. He was glad she could cloak them.

  Knocking canisters aside, she located black chalk on the table beside the door, dropped to her knees, and scratched symbols on the floor. She swiped her blonde hair off her forehead, leaving a red smear of blood behind. She muttered something in the Xapil tongue, and dark magic vibrated like static before becoming visible in the room, a black-violet color that smelled like rotten eggs and tasted like burnt offerings.

  The air turned foul as decomposing corpses while the alchemy boomed, making his ears ring and her hair fly from the force. She collapsed on her side, panting and gasping among symbo
ls glowing reddish-orange like fire embers. With a sizzle and pop, they died out, leaving the flooring scorched and the edges of her hair singed.

  “Are you okay?” He knelt beside her.

  “For now.” She put a hand to her forehead, wincing. Nix thought warmed-over shit might look better. She panted hard, and her eyes fluttered. “What’s your name?” His question surprised her if the flare of her eyes were any confirmation. “Have I hunted you?”

  “Yes.” She sounded tired.

  Looking over the gorgeous demon, he frowned. “I would remember seeing you.”

  “Never saw me.” She licked her paper-white lips. “Disguised myself.” Her voice wavered and her eyes slipped closed. “I must rest. You should put an Angel Lock around me until I wake. Just an Angel Lock. Understand?”

  Angel Lock? Strange words from a demon.

  “Let me clean your wounds,” he said, lifting her arm and studying the carvings she’d slashed into her flesh. Nothing like anything he’d ever seen. Blood poured from them into the markings on the floor. Gage had stabbed her with the same blade without leaving injuries. Confusion high, he released her arm.

  “No, you mustn’t clean my wounds.” She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, pressing the black chalk into his hand. “The spell needs to bleed out.” What a bizarre statement. On her next breath, she slept, leaving him without the ability to ask more questions.

  Slowly, he chalked an Angel Lock around her, unsure how that would trap her. She bled like crazy. She claimed to own her body, unheard of in the demonic world, unless dealing with a King. If she owned her own body, could she bleed out like a human? Doubtful, since she showed no signs of worry.

  Bizarre situation. No more bizarre than a demon losing consciousness in the presence of a Sherlock and trusting him not to kill her while comatose.

  He snooped around the penthouse. Impressive. High class, high quality, definitely nothing like anywhere he’d ever lived or even possessed the cash to crash for a night.

  Unless I lower my standards and delve into that fucking account Mads gave me.